In a short-short I’m
writing, the heroine gets weepy at a bunch of things, “which snuck up on her
unawares.Passing a dance studio
(all those graceful, talented, and self-assured young girls).Seeing an old white-nosed Golden
Retriever lay its head trustingly on its owner’s knee.A mild reproach from an older colleague
at work.An unexpected hole in one
heel of her favorite pair of knee socks, given her two Christmases ago by her
mother.A valiant little vapor
trail petering out to nothing in the evening sky.Even a tin of bay leaves at Safeway—exactly like the one she’d
bought to make jambalaya with sausages and red peppers and chicken thighs for
Joey’s 40th birthday.”

My mother would
relish her “Mad” Days, when she thoroughly enjoyed being mad at the world; and I
find being sad is often a real treat.Mindfulness would tell me that sadness is neither right nor wrong, just
my teacher for today.

2 comments:

you are the strangest mixture.a little guru for sure.a sensualist.a gourmand and gourmet.a colorist. ~ as in a colorist of life's bountiful art in all thingsa describer par excellencewhich means you're also a good. really really good. writer.xo